Doll Parts (The Game 4)

There was nothing playful about the way he narrowed his eyes this time.

I smiled slyly and took a step back. “Can you drive me home, please? I’m just gonna help the guys load the instruments into T’s truck.”

He nodded once, a bit stiffly, and that was okay. Considering the past couple of weeks, I couldn’t expect a better reaction to something related to BDSM. But it would give him something to think about while I got my drums off the stage. And I wanted him to think about it. I wanted him to consider that maybe we were into the same thing, the same lifestyle. Wouldn’t that be cool? And would it be so bad if I…pushed a little?

After all, he’d kind of started it. He had to know he wasn’t acting like a normal stepdad all the time—just like I wasn’t acting like a normal stepson. According to the porn I’d found, he was into way more specific fetishes than I was, and several of them stood out. Most of all, the way the Dominant was affectionate and caregiving in a more fatherly way, and I’d learned a thing or two about Daddy and Little play. Perhaps he was into that? I hadn’t seen a video in KC’s folder where anyone was called Daddy, but it was nevertheless a component he’d brought into our relationship. He didn’t treat me like a nineteen-year-old.

I was soaking it up. Always had. Sometimes, I felt like I’d been forced to grow up too soon, and he’d been my cushion all along. With him, I didn’t have to be grown up. And with me, he didn’t have to be…however a regular stepdad would be.

Half an hour later, we were driving away from Falls Church and aiming for my apartment in Shaw. KC was a neat person, but the glovebox of his too-expensive car was a candy monster’s haven. I knew exactly how he functioned. Always put together—yet casual—no sudden outbursts or anything like that. He was good at composure. But every now and then, work got too hectic, or maybe Mom was too much to handle, and then he’d go out to his car, sit here in the passenger’s seat, and eat a bunch of sugar. He even had a tiny trash bin attached to the inside of the door, and it was packed with chocolate wrappers. And his little candy therapy gave the car a faint smell of chocolate, caramel, coffee—because he loved his hot beverages too, often with syrup and stuff—and donuts.

It hit me that another thing could cause those sugar cravings. Like, if he were hiding his sexuality…

That shit took its toll.

I glanced over at him.

In the dark, he was all sharp contrasts and shadows, one elbow resting near the window while he bit absently at a cuticle.

“Don’t you think it’s better when people say what’s on their minds?” I asked.

“Generally, no,” he replied without missing a beat.

I smirked.

I didn’t know if I was even feeling the effects of the alcohol anymore; I felt normal, but at the same time, my worry was missing. It should still be there. KC was a flight risk—I knew that in my heart—yet, I wanted to push further and get him to open up.

I wrestled with my seat belt so I could turn and face him better. “Are you scared to be alone with me?”

He stopped biting at his cuticle and sighed. “No, scared would imply I had a fear of something possibly happening. With you, it’s a certainty. You don’t just cross lines—you dance all over them.”

A snicker burst out of me, and I felt giddy for a beat. His humor was wry and dry, and it was back. That was a good sign.

“Does that mean I can ask questions you don’t want me to ask?” I prodded.

“It means I expect you to, whether I want it or not.” He switched to the left lane and passed a couple of cars. “You’ve already started anyway. You didn’t mention soft and hard limits for no reason.” He side-eyed me, visibly resigned. “You’re not involved yourself, are you? You’ve only been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Wait, what? Would it be a problem if I was into BDSM too? “I’m nineteen, you know. So what if I’m into kink? And if you think about it, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. If a vanilla person stumbled across your porn—I mean, seriously, jeesh—”

“That’s enough,” he bit out. I noticed his grip on the wheel tightened. “Christ, I knew it was a bad idea to come tonight.”

I scratched my nose. The giddiness was gone, and I tried not to feel hurt. It was all part of it, I supposed. I was the one insisting on tackling this topic, and I was sure I was making him extremely uncomfortable in the process.